(Word Count = 641)
Desdemona was trying to hit the ground with a running start. She was making friends. Alliances. Settling into Elle's apartment and trying to work herself in as a fixture instead of an intruder. Healing. Enrolling in school. Rediscovering herself - or maybe finding herself for the first time - kept her busy, and to be busy meant she was happy and productive.
Nights were harder. Especially the first few - sleep hadn't come easily, and when it did, it was never a welcome friend. It was always the same, a barrage of images and sounds she couldn't make sense of. Sometimes they were kinder: a smile, a hand extended to her, the flick of a soft tail, a mass of throw pillows and faces like puzzles that had lost all their pieces.
But they weren't enough. Not to outweigh the shadows of pain, the fangs of a monster, the desperation of her own screams, the smirk and the snap of her wrist and the snap of her hand and the snap of a neck and -- those first nights, she'd shot up screaming, sobbing, shaking, tearing at her hair in desperation just to make it stop.
Then Elle would come to soothe her, tea would be made, and the knot of guilt would set in. Desdemona was grateful... especially since Elle never asked why, but just offered solace. But the last thing Des wanted to do was drag her caregiver down with her. So after those first few nights, she tried to bite back her screams. She flipped herself onto her stomach and choked back her tears as quietly as she could.
None of it was helping. No matter how tired she was, or how hard she tried to resist sleep, the nightmares of a life that was no longer her own lingered. The silver cat. The glowing senshi. There were others. Des didn't care who they were. Some of these things, these monsters she saw, they weren't even monsters anymore. They didn't prowl beneath her bed waiting for her so they could swallow her up. What once was a threat was now her ally. They protected her now, embraced her as once of their own.
Those feelings of fear, sadness, rejection, anger - they were too many, too mixed up, too chaotic. She didn't want them. She had come this far, she couldn't let this be the thing to ruin her.
So she took a journal, one of the ones Elle had gotten her for school. Des labeled it private and slipped it into her nightstand, staring down at it with a sneer before sliding the drawer closed. When she woke that night, she scribbled down what she saw and felt. The next night, she did it again. And again.
It didn't make the nightmares go away. But they were her demons to tame, and for now, to know them was as good as to rule them.
Over the weeks since her induction into the negaverse, the journal's purpose began to grow and shift. She began to scribble more than just the dreams on the page. Bits of memories she managed to scrape together from them - bits of reflection of her time as a servant of the white moon - reflection on why the Negaverse had chosen her to save, her feelings towards it - it wasn't much of anything yet. But before she knew it, as Des leaned back in her chair one night and stared down at the pages, she realized she had the beginnings of a story. Her story. The tale of her redemption.
She smiled down at the book down the first time, sliding her fingers along its pages, and gently slipped it back into place before shutting off her light and heading back to bed. For the first time, Desdemona slept peacefully until morning.
Desdemona was trying to hit the ground with a running start. She was making friends. Alliances. Settling into Elle's apartment and trying to work herself in as a fixture instead of an intruder. Healing. Enrolling in school. Rediscovering herself - or maybe finding herself for the first time - kept her busy, and to be busy meant she was happy and productive.
Nights were harder. Especially the first few - sleep hadn't come easily, and when it did, it was never a welcome friend. It was always the same, a barrage of images and sounds she couldn't make sense of. Sometimes they were kinder: a smile, a hand extended to her, the flick of a soft tail, a mass of throw pillows and faces like puzzles that had lost all their pieces.
But they weren't enough. Not to outweigh the shadows of pain, the fangs of a monster, the desperation of her own screams, the smirk and the snap of her wrist and the snap of her hand and the snap of a neck and -- those first nights, she'd shot up screaming, sobbing, shaking, tearing at her hair in desperation just to make it stop.
Then Elle would come to soothe her, tea would be made, and the knot of guilt would set in. Desdemona was grateful... especially since Elle never asked why, but just offered solace. But the last thing Des wanted to do was drag her caregiver down with her. So after those first few nights, she tried to bite back her screams. She flipped herself onto her stomach and choked back her tears as quietly as she could.
None of it was helping. No matter how tired she was, or how hard she tried to resist sleep, the nightmares of a life that was no longer her own lingered. The silver cat. The glowing senshi. There were others. Des didn't care who they were. Some of these things, these monsters she saw, they weren't even monsters anymore. They didn't prowl beneath her bed waiting for her so they could swallow her up. What once was a threat was now her ally. They protected her now, embraced her as once of their own.
Those feelings of fear, sadness, rejection, anger - they were too many, too mixed up, too chaotic. She didn't want them. She had come this far, she couldn't let this be the thing to ruin her.
So she took a journal, one of the ones Elle had gotten her for school. Des labeled it private and slipped it into her nightstand, staring down at it with a sneer before sliding the drawer closed. When she woke that night, she scribbled down what she saw and felt. The next night, she did it again. And again.
It didn't make the nightmares go away. But they were her demons to tame, and for now, to know them was as good as to rule them.
Over the weeks since her induction into the negaverse, the journal's purpose began to grow and shift. She began to scribble more than just the dreams on the page. Bits of memories she managed to scrape together from them - bits of reflection of her time as a servant of the white moon - reflection on why the Negaverse had chosen her to save, her feelings towards it - it wasn't much of anything yet. But before she knew it, as Des leaned back in her chair one night and stared down at the pages, she realized she had the beginnings of a story. Her story. The tale of her redemption.
She smiled down at the book down the first time, sliding her fingers along its pages, and gently slipped it back into place before shutting off her light and heading back to bed. For the first time, Desdemona slept peacefully until morning.
